


crazy like seven snowsuits from the baby gap

by elisela



Series: southpaw [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: Derek goes a little overboard when it comes to their first kid.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: southpaw [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014576
Comments: 6
Kudos: 151
Collections: A Very Sterek Winter 2021





	crazy like seven snowsuits from the baby gap

**Author's Note:**

> A Very Sterek Winter Day 4: Winter Gear
> 
> I didn't actually intend to write so many of these prompts in the southpaw universe but apparently that's what happened. Inspired by me and my shopping habits when it comes to my niece and clothes she really doesn't need but I get anyway.

“We need to talk,” is the first thing Stiles says when Derek walks into the living room, something he _almost_ regrets when a look of abject panic crosses Derek’s face. 

“Where’s Norah?” Derek asks, in a higher pitched voice that Stiles is absolutely, totally going to make fun of later—after he’s figured out how aliens abducted his formerly calm, rational husband and replaced him with the lunatic who ordered seven snowsuits from Baby Gap. 

Seven. 

And all the same _color_ , not even a variety to be seen, oh no. Norah is now the proud owner—until Stiles can convince his dad to return them—of a snowsuit for each day of the week; more, even, because she’s got at least three in her closet. Four? He’s not sure. There are days he doesn’t remember his own name, whole weeks that go by without him registering them, so it may be four. 

Not that it matters; Stiles may not be winning any awards for world’s best parent—he’s spent most of the Norah’s short life just a step above mediocre, in fact—but even he knows that a six month old doesn’t need more than one snowsuit. 

Derek’s hands are gripping his shoulders, and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be the one telling me that?” he asks. “It’s Tuesday, you’re supposed to—” Derek exhales noisily and his shoulders sag; Stiles, like an asshole, laughs. 

“Christ, you scared me,” Derek mutters, twisting and dropping heavily onto the couch. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, and Stiles, against his better judgement, allows himself to be pulled down onto Derek’s lap. Derek’s hands are warm on his waist, sliding down to his thighs, and Stiles groans before setting his hands on top and pressing down to make Derek stop. There’s a pause, and Derek lets out a breath that Stiles can feel against the back of his neck. 

“I have to finish a paper by midnight,” Stiles says apologetically, “maybe if your mom could—” but Derek shakes his head, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. 

“It’s fine,” he says before shifting, allowing Stiles to lean back against him more comfortably. He shouldn’t—he’d only taken a break to confront Derek about his slow descent into madness and get back to writing his paper so that he could make dinner for them all after Derek picked Norah up, but now that he’s pressed up against him, he can’t bring himself to move. “What do we have to talk about?”

He leans back against his husband’s solid chest and wiggles his phone out of his pocket, tilting his head and catching Derek’s lips in a kiss when he feels him lean in. “You’re an insane person,” he says, pulling away to unlock his phone and thumbing to his messages. “My dad sent me some pictures today.” He holds the phone up to Derek’s line of sight so he can see the picture Noah had sent, boxes and packages stacked neatly on the kitchen table, then slides to the next picture—the one with all the winter gear spread across the couch, identical baby snowsuits and more hats than any one child needs covering every inch of space, the brand new stroller next to the coffee table, and a car seat box with multiple covers stacked on top.

“It gets cold in Beacon Hills,” Derek says after a moment, and Stiles can’t tell if he sounds defensive or resigned to being teased until spring comes and he does something else ridiculous, like supply Norah with a lifetime’s worth of baby rain boots. “I figured it was better to be prepared.”

“You said you were sending a few things,” Stiles says, and he can’t help the grin that spreads over his face when he looks at the picture again. “Way to be restrained, babe. I’m trying to convince Dad to return everything he can for us and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to offer up the prospect of a diet-free vacation in order to get him to do it.”

“We’ll just return it when we get there,” Derek says, and the soft scrape of his beard against Stiles’ neck almost distracts him into losing thread of the conversation—maybe, he thinks, they’ll have time if he orders dinner in instead of making it—he’ll have to endure Derek’s gentle mockery of his lack of domestic skills but he’s pretty sure it’s been a month since they last had sex—

—or two, maybe, because it was definitely before Halloween, he remembers that pretty clearly. It’d been half-hearted and Derek had fallen asleep part of the way through, and Stiles had pinched his arm to wake him up—“What do you mean, when we get there?” he demands, blinking when he realizes what Derek had said. “Did you change the plans again? I can’t deal with it, Derek, I can’t have another trip like Wisconsin, I have very traumatic memories about Norah and the carseat, I might be—”

Derek’s hand presses over his mouth and Stiles sticks his tongue out automatically, licking his palm. “Stiles. I’ve been under the impression that the plan was always to go to Beacon Hills for Christmas. We’ve done it every year. You knew that I was having gifts mailed there.”

He wraps his fingers around Derek’s wrist and pulls it away from his mouth. “Yeah, you told me at Halloween, because you’re an organized freak who starts worrying about things way before you need to. I told you we were canceling the trip to California the day we got back from Wisconsin. I already got Dad and Melissa plane tickets out here, Scott and Allison are coming back—Derek, last week your mom mentioned how excited she was that we were spending Norah’s first Christmas in Brooklyn. You really don’t remember?”

There’s a long pause and Derek says, “We have a newborn and I’m sleep deprived, I don’t know what you want from me.”

Stiles twists around to face him so fast he nearly falls off Derek’s lap. “You said she didn’t count as a newborn anymore when I tried to use the sleep deprivation excuse last week,” he says, pointing a finger at Derek before poking him in the chest.

“You tried to use it as an excuse to leave your wet towels on the floor,” Derek responds. “If you’re not so sleep deprived that you can shower, you can manage to hang a towel up.”

“I’m trying to raise a baby and get a degree here, the towel is the least of my worries,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it. Derek’s working full-time and still manages to be the one taking care of Norah every second he’s at home so Stiles can get reading done; he probably should make more of an effort to make sure he’s not pushing all the work onto him. He resettles on Derek’s lap, wanting to give himself just another moment before he gets up, but then Derek starts mouthing at the curve of his neck and he can’t help the tiny moan that slips out.

“Sure we don’t have time?” Derek asks, fingers dragging up the inside of his thighs.

“I still need to make dinner,” Stiles says, but he tilts his head back more and grinds down a little, shivers at the puff of warm breath over the mark Derek is trying to leave on his skin. “Okay, okay,” he says when Derek’s tongue finds the spot on his neck that always makes his knees go weak. “Ordering in it is. Now take me to bed, Derek, or lose me forever.”

He can feel Derek grin against his skin. “You wouldn’t get rid of me. You’re crazy about me.”

“Sure am,” Stiles says, reaching up and behind him to tug on Derek’s hair. “Crazy like seven snowsuits from the Baby Gap.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable tumblr link](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/641476859411021824/crazy-like-seven-snowsuits-from-the-baby-gap)


End file.
